“The man’s a force of nature.” His voice softened suddenly, as he saw the look of unadulterated panic on my face. “You look so radiant and beautiful. Have I told you that already? Because you’re absolutely stunning and totally take my breath away.”
I smiled. “Thank you so much. And I would like to extend the same compliment because you look absolutely dashing handsome.”
“Thank you,” he said.
I pulled myself together with a shaky breath, made the mistake of glancing outside the window, then had to start all over again.
“You know—this isn’t really what I signed up for when I agreed to be your publicist.”
Nick’s smile dimmed the longer he looked at me—eventually melting away into something both sad and serious. “I know. I...I appreciate it.”
It was this sense of quiet gratitude that finally broke through.
He didn’t have to be here any more than I did. He didn’t care if yet another naked picture surfaced of him on the internet. He was doing this entire thing to protect me.
“...I appreciate it too.”
The two of us climbed out of the car in what felt like slow motion. The wind fanned our hair out behind us, as my dress billowed like a silken cloud in the breeze. We came together in a natural pose—his arm linked around my waist as we stood elegantly for pictures.
Except...no one was there.
“What is this?” I muttered quietly. The whole point of us throwing this party was to get seen. That was going to be rather difficult if all the cameramen were located at some other mystery entrance. “Nick—where is everyone?”
As if to answer his question, a sudden cheer rose up from behind the yacht club. With a careful sort of curiosity, we tiptoed around the side—gazing out at the spectacle just beyond.
Our jaws dropped open at the same time.
“I thought this was supposed to be held at the yacht club,” I muttered incredulously, staring out toward the sparkling waves. “Not on an actual yacht...”
IT WAS OFFICIAL: THE great Harold Oates had outdone himself.
I didn’t know how he’d managed to turn the most exclusive sailing club in all of Manhattan into a glorified coatroom for the real party to come. I didn’t know how he’d cleared passage with the coastguard on such short notice. Not the least of which, I had no idea how in the world he’d convinced the club itself to let Nick Hunter take something out on the water, when the last time he tried, the thing had sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic.
All that I knew was, about two minutes and eight million photographs later, Nick and I were on board a little motorboat—heading toward the ship.
“You don’t get sea-sick, do you?” Nick asked, looking a little excited in spite of himself.
The fresh ocean air and mists of salty spray coming up from the sides had invigorated him. Re-lighting that constant spark of adventure in his eyes.
The waves had a slightly different effect on me...
I shot him a dirty look, and struggled to keep my makeup dry, and my dress from flying up around my ears. “You clearly don’t remember the incident in Bermuda.”
He glanced over with a grin.
“We were only snorkeling in Bermuda.”
I shrugged fearfully, gazing up at the giant ship.
“The sea is the sea.”
We lifted our heads at the same time, as we fell under the shadow of the massive ship. It wasn’t a yacht so much, as a miniature ocean liner. The kind that looked like something straight out of Titanic. (Yes, in every sense of the word.) The towering waves left trailing in its wake rocked our pint-sized craft from side to side.
“What are the chances of hitting an iceberg out here...?”
“Seriously?” Nick shot me a sideways grin. “You can still see the top of that Starbucks we passed on the way over. I think your chances of dying at sea are rather slim.”
I deliberately ignored his enthusiasm, gripping onto the metal rail like my life depended on it. “That’s just what Jack and Rose thought. One of them turned out to be wrong...”